Daughters (42 page)

At the end of the inspection, the social worker took a photograph of Olivia and said she would try to locate any relatives. In the meantime, she was okay with Olivia staying with Marie.

The sudden addition of Olivia to Marie’s household caused her mind to spin in different directions. While she knew it was unwise to start thinking about the three of them as a family, it was hard not to, especially when she saw how Rachael and Olivia interacted with each other. She knew the minute Olivia’s relatives were found, she would be taken away from her, but even that didn’t stop her from thinking how this unlikely ménage had started to spell out family.

The last thing Marie wanted to do was disregard her ethnicity in favor of fulfilling her desire to have a family.
But I would be giving two children a good home, two children who needed and deserved a good home.
She thought about Olivia’s ethnicity, being a Mexican in a white world. She laughed to herself at the thought of Rachael being the only one without a race issue. God knew she had enough other issues to make up for that.

Suddenly the concept of having her own biological family someday didn’t seem so important. Had the most troubling aspect of her mixed ethnicity been suddenly abolished? Marie didn’t know how she felt about that. Was she compromising her most intrinsic belief that race shouldn’t matter? Or was she making the most of an impossible situation given whites’ current attitude toward Negroes?

Marie’s thoughts occupied every spare minute of her day and kept her up most nights. In the meantime, she didn’t hear anything from the social worker except for when she periodically checked in on them, and life went on.

She was more than just a little pleased to see it didn’t take long for Olivia to fit in her household. And it didn’t take Rachael long to start teaching Olivia English—on her own, without being asked, making Marie a proud…a proud what? She wasn’t sure what to call herself.

Ten days into Olivia’s stay, Marie and Rachael were sitting on the sun porch at the end of the day. The cool mid-October evening breeze was enough to make them don sweaters. Marie drank merlot. Rachael drank Coca-Cola. Olivia was sound asleep in her room.

“Can we talk?” Rachael asked.

“Of course, sweetheart. What’s on your mind?”

“So how have I been doing?”

Marie was puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’re pretty hip when it comes to telling me when I’ve done a good job in school, or horseback riding, and now with Olivia, but how am I doing as your…well, I heard you say to that social worker…you called me your daughter.”

Marie peered deep into Rachael’s anxious eyes. She knew the time Rachael was talking about. She had wanted Miss Hierra to see a stable home life for Olivia until they found a permanent place for her, but she hadn’t realized Rachael had overheard her.

The truth was Marie had struggled with the possibility of trying to legally adopt Rachael. The huge step of adopting a child as a single parent was difficult enough without factoring in race. In her heart, she had no issue with being a Negro and adopting a white child, her passing for white notwithstanding. But she knew it would raise more than just a few eyebrows from other people. And while she tried not to let other people’s opinions affect her own actions, it was hard not to think about the potential problems they would likely face down the road.

Marie stared past Rachael, out the window into the starlit night sky. When she looked back at her, she saw Rachael holding back tears. “You were uncomfortable with that.”

“Sort of.”

“Why, hon?”

“‘Cause I’m not really your daughter.”

“I know. And maybe I shouldn’t have referred to you as that, but I was trying…”

“I know what you were trying to do. I’m not stupid.” Rachael looked down into her lap.

Marie wasn’t sure what to say. The situation was nothing short of complicated. “What about your real mother?”

Rachael shot her a disgusted look. “I couldn’t care less about her.”

“You say that now, but…”

“Please don’t tell me how I feel about her. I hate her. I hate the way she raised me, and I hate what she did to Ben. I want nothing to do with her.”

“Well, whether you like it or not, legally, your mother is still your mother.” She looked deep into Rachael’s eyes. “What if I was able to legally adopt you? Would that make you feel better about things?”

“Are you kidding?”

“Think about it. Remember, I’m half Negro. What would your friends think?”

“Who cares what they think?”

“You may, the first time they call me a name.”

“Call you names and I’ll give ‘em a knuckle sandwich.”

Marie peered at Rachael and smiled. Rachael smiled back.

“Aside from
wanting
to give them a knuckle sandwich, what would you do?”

“Look, if you can handle being part Negro and looking white your whole life, I think I can handle a snide comment from a kid or two.”

Marie wasn’t sure if she admired the child’s way of thinking or was frightened by it. “Look, I’ll check with an attorney, but I can’t promise you anything. Your mother is a big factor.”

“That’s shitty.”

“Rachael…”

“Sorry. Isn’t that a shame?”

Marie couldn’t imagine what was going through young Rachael’s mind. The pain on her face told her the torment ran deep.

“I’ll check with an attorney tomorrow, and I can promise you I’ll do whatever I can to make our relationship bona fide.” She took her hand. “But I want you to understand, even if I can’t do something legal to make you my daughter, I’ll always be there for you. Piece of paper or not. Is that clear?”

“Can’t ask for better than that. But you know what would really put me on cloud nine?”

“What’s that?”

“If Olivia was part of the deal.”

Marie couldn’t speak. Rachael seemed to have this all figured out. But she was just a kid. She didn’t understand all the potential ramifications.

Three very different daughters living together, growing together, thriving together in a way they in all probability couldn’t do apart. Words her father had shared with her during one of their first visits suddenly came to mind: “God created us different to understand the need for each other.” If he was right, nothing could be truer in Marie’s life right now.

“You know what?” she said through tears. “Sometimes I don’t think I give you enough credit.”

Rachael rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s about time you figured that out.”

Miss Hierra put Marie in touch with a Spanish-speaking attorney who specialized in family law. He found out Olivia’s mother had run off when she was an infant, and up until he died, her father and a variety of neighborhood Mexican women who felt sorry for them had been raising her. He told Marie that given the number of unwanted Mexican children in the state, she would likely have no problem adopting Olivia, and the fact Marie was mixed race herself would be a plus. Marie was fairly certain that would be the only time in her life she would ever hear that sentiment.

Adopting Rachael was another story. The same attorney told her that Rachael’s mother, prison or no prison, would have to relinquish her parental rights before Marie could legally adopt her. And in fact, the attorney informed her, Marie was taking chances by keeping Rachael in her custody without going through the court system.

Marie called Greg and Gloria to get their input. “I bet Judy would give up her rights if there was something in it for her,” Greg said.

“Like what?”

“I don’t know, but it’s clear she doesn’t care anything about Rachael. If she did, she would have tried to contact us. She’s a user, Marie. And that may work to your advantage.”

“She’s in prison for twenty-five years. What could she use in there?”

“I don’t know. Maybe an attorney could help you with that.”

Marie’s attorney wasn’t very optimistic. “You don’t want to do anything that will look like bribery or coercion to get legal custody of the girl. If her mother really cared about her, she would give up her parental rights in order to know her daughter would be well cared for while she was in prison, but you’d be taking a risk stirring things up.”

“I’m not sure I want to give her any ideas. So far we haven’t had any trouble from her.”

Later Marie explained it all to Rachael. “I can have my lawyer proceed, but you have to understand that your mother could potentially have you removed from my care. She has the legal right to do that.”

Rachael bit her lip, appearing defeated.

“You’ll be eighteen before you know it. And then she can’t do anything.”

Rachael stomped her foot. “It’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t always fair, Rachael. I’ve told you that before. We just need to make the best out of every situation.”

“I know.”

“So are you okay with just keeping things the way they are?”

“I guess.”

Marie smiled and gave her a hug. “I love you, sweetie.”

“Aw…don’t get mushy on me.”

Adjustment for Olivia didn’t come without its ups and downs. Once Marie found her cowering in the closet in the bedroom she shared with Rachael. When Marie approached her, Olivia threw up her arms in a defensive posture, as though she expected Marie to hit her. Olivia’s English wasn’t that good yet, but luckily Rachael was home and able to learn from her that she had messed her pants. Through Rachael, Marie told Olivia she never had to worry about coming to Marie if it happened again. Accidents happened, and there would no punishment.

One thing Olivia had a hard time learning was sharing and respecting what belonged to others. Judging by the way Olivia hoarded things—food and toys mostly—Marie suspected she’d had to fend for herself in the past. Marie and Rachael tried to set good examples for Olivia, but they could tell she was apprehensive. It would take time.

Meeting Olivia’s basic needs—nutritious food, safety, and security—was relatively easy, but meeting her emotional needs was more challenging. Connecting to Olivia emotionally was difficult given the language barrier, but Marie could see that connection between Rachael and Olivia and knew this would take time as well.

With Rachael in school and Marie at work, Olivia needed a place to stay during the day, so Marie rearranged her office to accommodate a small desk for Olivia, her own child-size sofa, and a play kitchen complete with a tea set. Marie’s staff enjoyed being served make-believe tea at least twice a day.

One day, out of the blue, Olivia asked Marie where her daddy was. “Come here, honey,” Marie said. She took Olivia’s hands as she spoke. “Your daddy is in heaven, sweetheart. And he’s probably looking down on you right now to make sure you’re okay. Do you understand that?”

Olivia shook her head.

“Do you know what heaven is?”

Olivia nodded. “Where nice people go to die.”

Oh dear. Where are we going with this?
“That’s right.”

“Where do bad people go?”

“Oh, I think there’s a place in heaven for everyone.”

“Okay.”

Okay, what?

“Are you okay with that?”

“Yep,” Olivia said as she skipped over to her pretend oven to whip up a batch of cookies or something.

The Costa family—Marie, Rachael, and Olivia—went to St. Charles for the long Thanksgiving weekend. Everyone was there, including the Feinsteins. It had been almost a year since Jonathan’s heart attack, and he was back to feeling normal. The women handled the food while the men talked about sports, business, and politics.

The Feinsteins talked about Ben and how much they missed him. He had been gone a little more than six months, and at first, Marie had learned, they couldn’t even mention his name without breaking down. But once Judy confessed to his murder, Claire told Marie, they accepted the fact he was gone and were now able to talk about him without losing their composure.

Of course, there was the occasional cigar fest in the main barn. Much to Jonathan’s dismay, Claire had thrown away all his cigars after his heart attack, but only after cutting them in half, something he vowed he would never let Claire forget.

“To quote the great Abraham Lincoln,” Jonathan said to anyone who would listen, “‘it has been my experience that folks who have no vices have very few virtues.’”